


Touching Me, Touching You

by danwriteskink



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, actually pretty romantic, but in the nicest way, considering lionel's in the trunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 09:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danwriteskink/pseuds/danwriteskink
Summary: Fusco needs a break. John is here to give him one.





	Touching Me, Touching You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Season of Kink 2019, for the Places square. 
> 
> Title from Sweet Caroline, because I feel it's in Fusco's personal soundtrack.

Fusco's had one of those day, the ones that aren't a crisis – nobody's dropped a cop – but the worst pieces of garbage seem to be winning and the world doesn't even care. On top of the regular bullshit, a weaselly defence lawyer busted a perp out on a technicality, and the piece of shit gave Fusco a thumbs up as he left the precinct. 

Now Fusco's on the hook with his Lieutenant, which he hates but he has to admit, the blame is on him. Even if the system is fucked, you gotta work with the system, or nothing matters. So he takes his licking, and makes his plans, and if he's gotta start this whole case from scratch, well, he can do that. Sometimes, though, he fantasises about doing it John's way. It'd solve a lot of problems. 

He turns his phone over, but there's no messages from the big guy or Glasses, which sucks, because if ever there was a day to play hooky, this was it. He's had enough. He's taking his paperwork home, because at least there's only one stupid mook to face up to. 

He stuffs his things into his shitty briefcase, squeezes it closed and gets the clasp to click home after squashing the thing with his bodyweight. It's his fault the damn thing gives up the ghost in the parking lot. Fusco is two steps from his car when the case pops open scattering papers everywhere. 

"Fuck!" he says, and finally loses it, punching his fist into the trunk of his car, which hurts like hell, and does pitifully little damage to the car. 

"Easy, Lionel," says a voice from the shadows. 

Fusco bends over, starts gathering papers. "Shut up, asshole." He's mad enough that he's going to take a swing at Wonderboy, and that would be a shame, because things have been pretty great between them lately. And if this had been a better day, maybe they'd be having a different conversation, one that ended with a couple of beers (or soda water in Fusco's case, but the emotional bonding carries over) and then an awkward fumbling embrace, maybe a quick and yet satisfying fuck. 

But no, it's gotta be shit all the way down today. He feels a muscle pop in one knee as he bends to gather his paperwork, and by now, that doesn't even make him swear. 

He stuffs the papers into the busted case, pops the trunk and shoves the case into it. Then John grabs him by the collar, heaves him up to his tiptoes so he can look him in the eye. 

"Do you need help with something, Fusco?" he says, all calm and collected, when Fusco is sweaty and angry and right at the end of his tether. "Something you want to ask me to do?" 

It's right on the tip of Fusco's tongue, the name of that murdering shitbag. All he has to do is say it, let it drop right there, and John will sort it out for him. It would be so fucking easy. 

He closes his eyes. "Just – just give me something else to think about, okay?" 

A gloved hand cups the side of his face for a moment, and then he feels a massive shove to his side that pushes him over and into the trunk, flat on his back like a turtle. Fusco brings his legs up to block John from closing it, but John's tidy about things, he somehow gets Fusco all neatly folded up like laundry. The trunk closes with a hollow thunk and Fusco's suddenly in darkness, curled into a foetal position, rolling around on his hated paperwork.

"That's not what I meant, you asshole!" he shouts and goes at the trunk with his heel. 

"Shh," says John, all muffled through metal and plastic. "I know what you need, Lionel." 

The driver's door opens, and Fusco hears his own keys jingle, then the soft roar of the engine. Damn it. 

The car bumps out of the parking garage and into traffic. There's plenty of people around this time of day, and Fusco could make noise, but honestly, how you do explain being stuffed in the trunk of your own car? And actually, it's kind of peaceful in here. His car is old, but the trunk is roomy and he keeps it as tidy as possible so that there's room for the increasing amount of (completely essential, according to Lee) hockey gear that he needs to tote as the dad of a sporty kid. 

He thinks about wriggling around, springing the emergency catch to open the trunk, but somehow he doesn't do that. Somehow he dozes off instead. It's probably the carbon monoxide. Still, he could use the extra sleep, the way he's been working 24/7 on that fucking case. 

He wakes up with a start and realises they must be out of the city, because they're moving at speed. It takes some manoeuvring to get his phone out, but eventually he gets it, and then has to dial down the brightness because after so long in the dark it's dazzling. He's been in this car for more than a couple of hours. It's probably psychosomatic, since he was fine a minute ago, but his left calf starts to cramp. He tries to stretch it out, realises he can't, realises this whole thing is stupid, and calls Reese on the phone. 

"How you doing back there, Lionel?" John's voice is calm and conversational, as if he was just chatting away to a friend, which would be a nice concept, if his friend wasn't folded up in the trunk of his own car. 

"Come on, asshole, this isn't fun anymore." Ow. Now his thigh is getting in on the cramp action. He tries to straighten his leg, can't get the angle right, and gives the wheel hub a good hard stomp in frustration. 

"Calm down, Lionel. You needed a little quiet time – I'm here to give it to you." 

It suddenly occurs to Lionel that he's really, really glad he traded in his car since he met John, otherwise he'd be right where Stills had been lying that day John appeared in the back seat of his car and gave him this whole new side hustle. That thought is enough to kickstart a claustrophobic panic. 

"That's enough, fuckhead! Let me out now!" He rolls over, walks his fingers to the emergency trunk release, but by the time he's pulled it and popped the trunk, the car is slowing down. 

He pushes out of the trunk and comes up fighting, ready to smack the bejesus out of Wonderboy's smug face, and John's obviously not expecting it, because the first hit catches him on the side of the jaw. It's not a hard punch; the angle Fusco's at is too weird, but it's satisfying to land, given John's ninja-like abilities. 

"Hey!" John says, dancing out of the way with nimbleness that ain't right on a guy that size. "Lionel, you asked me to give you something to think about. How about a polite thank you?" 

"How about I knock those teeth out, asshole?" Fusco says. He swivels on his butt, gets his legs over the edge of the trunk and onto the muddy ground. He registers a brief glance of pine trees and red-gold light, before his numb legs collapse under him and he plummets face first towards a wide, brown puddle. 

John catches him, because of course he does, and props him back up sitting on the edge of the trunk with his legs hanging down. The competence of it, the ease with which he manages somehow tips Fusco's temper over the edge. He flails at John with clumsy fists, still blinking in the light, and all of his frustration comes boiling out. His anger at the perp for being able to pay his way out of a holding cell when kids who don't really deserve to be there are stuck with brain-dead representation. His hatred for the bloated, self-serving justice system. The fact that everyone knows the system is broken but nobody can do a damned thing about it. 

John weathers it all with infuriating patience, dodging fists and feet easily, catching first one and then another hand in his own, holding Fusco still. 

"Shh," he says eventually, and kisses his forehead. This is so surprisingly tender that it stops Fusco's temper mid-flail. "Calm down, or we'll miss the sunset." 

"The what?" Fusco says, stupidly. Then he realises, as his anger settles, that the air is clear of pollution and the hot garbage smell of the city. He blinks in the evening sun, breathes cool air with the resinous tang of pine trees. John has driven them right out of the city, up into the trees on the edge of the State Park somewhere. Probably where he goes to dump bodies. That makes him laugh, thinking of that trip to Oyster Bay.

"Something funny?" John strokes his cheek. He took the gloves off sometime between Manhattan and this place, and Fusco can feel the calluses against his skin. 

He sighs and leans into the touch, enjoying the simplicity of it, having someone he trusts near. "Just remembering that first road trip. Never would have believed it if you told me." 

John heaves him to his feet, holds him till the cramps have receded and he feels steady. "Never would have believed I'd be hauling you out of a trunk in the middle of nowhere? Give yourself credit, Lionel. You're a better detective than that." 

Lionel snorts again, and even though he doesn't need to now, he leans against John. "So, what's up here that makes it so great?" 

What John has is a view so good you could cream yourself looking at it. He leads Fusco down a narrow path that clearly no tourist would dare to use, and onto a precipice that juts out over a valley. It crumbles a little underfoot, and Fusco wouldn't dare step out to the edge if John hadn't gone ahead of him. He edges out, following John's footsteps carefully, wondering again at the way their relationship has changed, that he now trusts John not to lead him into danger. 

The valley spreads out below them, covered in a blanket of mist that the setting sun tinges pink and orange. There are trees poking through that flat, pillowy barrier, and Fusco sees a bunch of birds making that V in the air as they head home, skimming above the mist like ducks over a lake. John's hands are warm on the back of his neck. It's so quiet he can hear John breathe, hear the faint hollow bird sounds echo up from below. He finally takes a deep breath of that cool, clean air and his agitation with the world settles, as the sun draws a line of fire along the mountain peaks. 

In a perfect world, in a TV detective world, this would be his eureka moment, where the details of that case clarify themselves, and he'd suddenly see the one thing he missed. It's not a perfect world, but Fusco feels okay about having to start over. The coolness of the valley, the presence of John at his back, it takes out the sting and outrage he had felt this morning. He can start again. It's what he does, it's the kind of detective he is. He'll grind this guy down, and he'll get him put away. 

He reaches an arm back to pull John closer, so he can kiss him. "Thanks," he says, against John's mouth. "I guess I needed that." 

John takes one graceful step and suddenly they're standing comfortably nestled together, hip against hip. It's already getting cooler in the gathering gloom, and Fusco is starting to think about how nice a shower is going to feel, get that sweat off his skin, warm up his cold fingers and toes. 

"Wanna head back?" he says, when there's nothing left of the sunset but a faint orange glow in a sky with too many stars for a city boy to feel completely safe. 

John kisses him again, and turns back to the terrifying goat path, but he keeps hold of Fusco's hand, which is great because Fusco can barely see two feet ahead of himself right now. Trust Wonderboy to be able to see in the dark. Must eat his carrots. 

They walk carefully back to the car, John just ahead of Fusco the whole time. 

Fusco eyes the open trunk. "Mind if I sit in the front this time?" he says. 

John tosses him the keys, and miraculously, Fusco catches them. "Lionel, I'll even let you drive."


End file.
